


Tick Tock (and on and on)

by Palaisdulouvre



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Angst, Immortal Dave, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sporadic Updates, no real plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4842488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palaisdulouvre/pseuds/Palaisdulouvre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave isn't sure if time moves fast or slow when you're immortal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU in which the kids are passively affected by their aspects. They don't actually have any powers, you'll see what I mean when I get more of this done. Anyway, I'm not sure if this will have an actual plot, It's basically just going to be a bunch of chapters detailing the kids' live and how they meet and deal with their issues that no one else has. Please read, enjoy, and comment, I would love any feedback I can get!
> 
> discontinued

Dave was there when the Library of Alexandria burned down. He never much cared for reading, but as he watched the flames fling themselves skyward he thought of all the pages and pages of knowledge being eaten up, curling from painstakingly hand copied texts to nothing but black ash. It took six hours, twenty-five minutes, and three seconds to completely burn to the ground.

Dave was there one day in a market in Jerusalem, where a man called Jesus spoke to a large crowd about the words of God. Dave wasn't there when Jesus was crucified, and didn't stick around to see what happened after.

Dave was there when the Pyramids of Giza were finished, when yet another stone fell on yet another slave and crushed him to death.

Dave can speak thirty different languages(most of which are dead), has lived using seven different calendars, and for some strange reason has never really left the Mediterranean and Middle East. If one were to ask him if he were there when the wheel was invented, he would jokingly say hell yeah, he was.

(he wonders if it really counts as a joke if it's true)

Dave Strider, in the present era, has found himself living in London, England. He works as a DJ at a club on the other side of town from his shitty apartment, and has to go through some bad neighborhoods to get home. He can't say he minds.

On one particular night in early June, Dave is cornered in an alley by three muggers. They shove him around, then one pulls out a gun while the other two pull knives. This is when Dave decides to start being a smartass.

Dave whistles and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. "Shit's gettin' real now, huh?"

Left knife guy huffs, irritated, "c'mon man, give us the wallet and noone has to get hurt too much, yeah?"

Fuck these guys.

"Let's say I keep the wallet and no one gets hurt at all," Dave deadpans.

Gun guy laughs. "Yeah, yeah, we both know that ain't gonna happen. Just hand it over, make it easier for a guy."

"Nah," Dave says, "Imma make it harder for a guy, on account of I like both my finances and my face intact. Gotta keep the bank account full, pay rent and all that. Not that I don't get it, you probably want your finances intact too. Though if I were you I might care a little less about my face."

Gun guy starts looking angry. "Did you just fucking call me ugly?! You punk, I'll make you wish you didn't have a face!"

Dave shrugs, "I dunno, man, do we call the earth round? Wait, no, bad comparison, it's an elliptical spheroid. Close enough, though."

Gun guy whips the gun up towards Dave, and right knife guy grabs gun guy's arm, "hey, cool it, we just need his money!"

Left knife guy decides a good use of his time is to look slightly alarmed.

"Well I guess if you need a new face that bad I could be generous and make a donation," Dave smirks.

There's a loud bang, and Dave is face down on the concrete.

"Shit! Shit, bloody hell, you shot him! You fucking killed him, he's fucking dead!"

"Oh god..."

"Damn it, man, let's go! Let's get outta here!"

Three pairs of footsteps pound down the street away from Dave. After a few second of silence, he pushes himself up and frowns at the blood soaking his clothes. He pulls out a butterfly knife, digs the bullet out of his stomach, and heads home to get cleaned up.

Dave thinks that maybe goading people into murdering him has lost its thrill.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the author has a field day with imagery.

Rose Lalonde awakens every morning at precisely 4:13; no earlier, and certainly no later. She cleans up, brews a pot of tea, and pours a sizeable cup for herself, with a small spoonful of honey gently stirred in. She sits at her little round kitchen table in the small patch of sunlight that always alights in the same spot at the same time, and sips her tea while she contemplates the herbs hanging to dry over the sink window and the organized clutter permeating the rooms of her flat.

Once this is is done, she carefully washes her teacup, places it on a cloth next to the sink to dry, and sets about preparing for the day's clientele. She collects various knick knacks from around the house, maybe a pushpin or a paperclip, or even the large ceramic bowl that sits in her china cabinet. Things that will catch the eye of her visitors, to ensure that they will indeed be visitors, rather than just another passerby. These items she arranges on the table, in the shade of the awning in front of her  _taberna_. Each item goes on the far side of the table from where its guest will approach. This done, she displays the marks of her trade. The crystal ball goes on the center of the table, nestled into a purple and gold velvet pillow. The palm reading chart goes to the right of where she sits, the tarot cards to the left. In front of the table, in front of the awning's shade, in the sunlight for all to reads, goes the very last piece: a quaint hand painted wooden sign reading only, "fortunes told."

Rose will have a few very special guests today, she knows. She can feel it in the pulsing behind her eyes, and the thin layer of slimy chill always patiently waiting in the back of her throat. The items today will have to be very special, indeed. A small bronze sundial, placed at precisely the wrong angle. A barometer that never reads right. And a compass that simply refuses to point properly North.

 As she retreats inside to pour another cup of tea, Rose wonders why the items seem meant to annoy, rather than just catch someone's eye or nudge their memory. But every item means something to its client, and if these draw them in through annoyance, then so be it. It's not hers to decide. So Rose Lalonde, perhaps the one true fortune teller in existence, settles down at her table, tea in one hand and large grimoire of the zoologically dubious in the other, and waits to see who her guests will be today.

The morning goes by at an irksome pace, with very few of the people Rose expects coming. A few tourists stop by for a reading, but take no notice of the items. Nonetheless, Rose reads futures, gives advice, makes startlingly accurate comments, and, as per usual, is completely correct about everything. She sends them off the way she always does, with a, "thank you, good day," and nothing more.

Around one thirty Rose glances up from the grimoire to find a young man giving the sundial a slight nudge with the tip of his finger. He doesn't rotate it more than a degree and a half, maybe two. Rose smiles, setting the time aside. "Do you like it?"

 The young man looks up as if he were not aware she was there. He has pale skin, hair closer to white than blond, and a dense smattering of light freckles that run from one cheek to the other. A pair of aviators shields his eyes. "What? Nah, I mean, it's pretty, it just..." He shrugs, "whatever, I'll just leave you to your weird juju shit."

Rose smiles as he begins to walk away, "it's quite alright, I had a feeling it was a bit off. My weird juju shit doesn't tell be by how much, though."

"Woah, I didn't mean it like that. I'm sure you're-"

"Perfectly fucking legit," Rose finishes for him. "I can assure you, I am."

He doesn't say anything, nor does his face change. He has clearly never been to a real fortune teller before. Not surprising, she's that only one.

"Whatever," he says, "I wasn't correcting it anyway."

"oh dear, you ought to know better than to lie to a fortune teller."

"I wasn't-"

"Yes, you were," Rose cuts him off. She folds her hands under her chin. "Tell me, _Davus_ , how old are you?"

"Twenty-five."

"Wrong."

He holds up his hands in mock defense. "Alright, alright, you caught me. I- wait, what did you call me?"

Rose arches an eyebrow. "I don't think I insulted you, if that's what you're asking."

He leans in, palms on the table, in a way Rose would describe as panicked, but is voice is as smooth as before. "No, you called me by name, what did you call me?"

Rose blinks. "Davide Strideverus." She pauses. "That's different from what I said before, isn't it?"

"Motherfuck," he breathes.

"Interesting," Rose says. "Well, since you're here, how about a reading?" She spreads her hands, showcasing her different methods. "Take your pick. I do Seances and ouija board inside after six. No senior prices."

He seems to do a mental double take, then smirks, sitting in the folding chair in front of the table. "Alright then, how much for that fancy crystal ball shit?"

"Fifteen pounds," Rose says, mirroring his smirk, "and your _current_ name."

"You drive a hard bargain, lady," he dis his wallet out of his pocket and hands her the notes. "Name's Dave Strider, don't wear it out."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Now, Mister Strider, shall we get started?"

* * *

Rose ends up spending more time chatting with Dave than reading his fortune, but she still gets paid,and she gets the feeling he doesn't really want to know anyway. They ifnish the session, if it could be called that, and Rose sends him off in the customary way. But as he leaves, she calls out to him.

"Dave!"

"Yeah?"

"Ask someone what the weather will be today."

He gives her a thumbs up and disappears into the crowd.

How very strange indeed.


End file.
